Mourning a Little Princess with Ravel's Pavane pour une infante défunte
The Backstory
Pavane pour une infante défunte, M. 19
I'm Maurice Ravel, and I'd like to tell you the backstory of my Pavane pour une infante défunte. You'll find out what that mournful-sounding title really meant to me, and why a student of twenty-four chose it mostly for the way the words sound. On this site my fellow composers and I also teach you to recognize our pieces when they play, so give the Trainer a go whenever you like.
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A Title That Sounds Sadder Than It Is
People hear "infante défunte" and assume I wrote a lament for a dead child, but that was never the idea. I explained that the title evokes the kind of pavane a little princess might have danced at the Spanish court. Later I admitted I simply liked the sound of the words, and in 1925 I said it was only the pleasure of alliteration. So if you feel a gentle sadness when you listen, that's fine, but I didn't put a funeral in the title on purpose.The Student Who Collected No Prizes
When I wrote this piece I was back at the Paris Conservatoire, where I'd been studying composition with Gabriel Fauré since 1897. Fauré was a teacher I admired, and his delicate, refined harmony left its mark on me. The Conservatoire was less impressed by my record, because in 1900 I was expelled after winning no prizes. I kept turning up to Fauré's classes anyway as an auditeur, someone who listens but doesn't take part, until 1903.My Gang of Hooligans
Around 1900 I fell in with a group of artists, poets, critics and musicians who called themselves the Apaches. The name came from my friend Ricardo Viñes, and it means "The Hooligans". We were far less dangerous than that sounds, since our idea of a wild evening was arguing about paintings and poems. Viñes will matter again in this story, because he's the one who first played the Pavane in public.A Dedication to a Generous Patron
I dedicated the piano piece to the Princesse de Polignac, whose name before her marriage was Winnaretta Singer. She was my patron, which means she supported artists like me and made it easier for us to keep working. Some sources say she actually commissioned the piece, while others only say it was dedicated to her, so nobody can be sure about that. What I can say is that a dedication to a princess suits a piece about a princess rather well.The Painting Nobody Can Prove
Some people connect my piece with the little Infanta Margarita in Velázquez's Las Meninas, and it's easy to see why. I never named a painting, though, so the story goes no further than a nice guess. What I can tell you is that the music has the stillness of a portrait, with everyone posed and nothing in a hurry. If you like to picture that canvas while you listen, I won't stop you, but please don't tell people I said so.Off to the Printer
My publisher was Eugène Demets in Paris, and he brought out the piano version. Even the year is a small puzzle, because one catalogue says 1899 and another says 1900. I won't settle it for you, since the date on a page matters much less than the notes on it. The piece was short, only 72 bars in a single movement, so Demets didn't need a very thick volume.A Quiet Debut
My friend Viñes gave the first performance on 5 April 1902, at a concert of the Société nationale de musique. The audience didn't rush home to tell everyone about it, because the piece attracted very little attention at first. That's rather different from how things turned out, since it later became one of the most popular things I ever wrote. I always said its success owed a great deal to remarkable interpretations, and I meant it.The Composer Is a Harsh Critic
I should confess that I wasn't always kind to this piece myself. By 1912 I felt that Chabrier's influence was much too glaring, and I thought the form was rather poor. Emmanuel Chabrier was a composer I loved, so it's no surprise that some of him slipped into my young work. Still, I've noticed that listeners care far more about the tune than about my opinion of the form.Manchester Gets There First
The orchestral version was first heard on 27 February 1911 in Manchester, with Henry Wood conducting. I wrote it for a small band of two flutes, oboe, two clarinets, two bassoons, two horns, harp and strings. The critic Samuel Langford called it "most beautiful", which was a generous thing to say about a piece I'd been rather rude about. So an English city gave my princess her orchestral debut, and I was happy to let it.The Princess Never Stops Traveling
In 1922 I recorded the Pavane on piano roll, so you can still hear how I played it myself. Over the years other musicians have taken it in directions I never imagined, including a song called "The Lamp Is Low" and a synthesizer version by Pedro Aznar in 1982. William Orbit made his own version in 2000, and Hayley Westenra sang one in 2004. As of 2020 Classic FM ranked it 230th in its Hall of Fame, which is quite a place for a piece its composer thought rather poor.---
When I look back at the Pavane pour une infante défunte, I'm struck by how differently I saw it than the rest of the world did. In 1912 I wrote that Chabrier's influence was much too glaring and that the form was rather poor. The piece attracted little attention at first, and then, slowly, people took it to their hearts. I've always thought its success owed a great deal to the remarkable performers who played it, and I'm still grateful to them. Did you enjoy learning about the backstory of Pavane pour une infante défunte? I hope it gave you a new way to listen, perhaps one without any funeral in it. There's still more to discover about this little piece. You could follow the melody as it leaves and comes back, or listen for how the horn sounds in the orchestral version compared with the piano original. You could also find out how other musicians have reimagined it since, in songs, on synthesizers and in the human voice. If you're curious, please click on the links provided and keep exploring the Pavane pour une infante défunte at your own pace. It's a piece that never asks to be hurried, so take your time with it.